Forgetful
by Misila
Summary: In which Dazai (probably) considers suicide by pneumonia.


**_Forgetful_**

.

Kunikida finds him standing in the rain, arms spread out and face turned upwards, as if seeking for the sun hidden above a dense mantle of clouds. Droplets slide down his face, along the sharp line of his jaw, hide between brown hair that turns darker, curlier as it clings to pale skin. His eyes are wide open, though, bright as they stare at the dark sky.

"In the end it's a nice day, don't you think?" he asks, not looking away from the clouds.

Opening his own umbrella, Kunikida raises an eyebrow.

He doesn't particularly like rain. It slows down traffic and makes every task less effective; not to mention how many accidents it causes or makes worse. On top of it, it makes him feel lazier, which makes sticking to his schedule harder than usual.

"If you say so."

Dazai smiles as his arms fall at his sides. "Rainy days are better than just cloudy days."

Kunikida shrugs. "If you say so," he repeats. "In any case, we still have work to do."

A huff gets lost amid the rain. Kunikida watches a raindrop sliding down Dazai's nose, hanging from the tip for some seconds until gravity finally tears it off and it lands on his blue-green clasp.

"The river brings more water than usual today," Dazai observes. "Maybe I'll be able to drown this time," he adds, pensive, index and thumb framing his chin.

The second the moment breaks is exactly when Kunikida realises it was a _moment_ ; as he grabs Dazai's ear and starts dragging him down the street it dawns on him that the atmosphere there was just a second before slips between his fingers like raindrops between Dazai's, that part of him desperately tries to gather as much as it can to treasure that sensation somewhere safe.

"Don't even think about it," he growls, though. "I'm not solving this alone just because you feel like throwing yourself into the river again. Besides," Kunikida lets go of Dazai, stops to look how his partner rubs at his reddened ear, a pout drawn on his features, "you'll only succeed in getting a cold."

With that he resumes walking, not needing to make sure Dazai follows him. His light steps are unmistakable.

"I'll get a cold if I keep walking under the rain, too," Dazai points out, inching closer; Kunikida can hear the mischievous smirk in his voice, "so let's share."

"Huh?" Kunikida's hair stands on end; working in the Agency has taught him to sense approaching danger. "How about you use your own?"

"I forgot it," Dazai simply replies; without further ado he hooks his arm around Kunikida's to get under the umbrella.

Kunikida freezes. Not in the sense that he stops moving altogether, no– he keeps walking, but his steps are mechanical, and he can almost hear his own joints creak because for a second he stops hearing the rain tapping on the umbrella, the cars driving down the road, the people chatting around them.

All because Dazai is clinging to his side, wet yet warm as the teasing glint disappears from his eyes and his smile grows more genuine; Kunikida finds he can't for the life of him look away from his partner, swallows down and considers kicking him into the rain again.

But his body just keeps walking like a programmed machine. So he resorts to words instead.

"Dazai," he grunts, but even his throat betrays him before he can tell the man to get off.

"Yes?"

"I have the feeling this is a bad idea," is what Kunikida finally manages to stutter out.

Dazai raises his eyebrows. "Is that so? Well, I'll go to catch a cold then." He disentangles his arm, steps outside the umbrella.

He doesn't get far, though. Kunikida's fingers, finally working properly, curl around his wrist, pull him close again.

"You always get your way, don't you?" he grumbles, purposefully focused on looking ahead. He is aware of the heat creeping up his neck, but hopes Dazai doesn't notice. "You'd let yourself catch a pneumonia if it meant you get to skip work."

Dazai's laughter mixes with the rain.

"If this is how you fix it, I might forget my umbrella more often," he mutters, linking their arms again so his shoulder doesn't get wet.

Kunikida doesn't have it in him to tell his partner he'll make him work even if he's dying in the case he gets sick out of his own carelessness. He probably won't get a cold, anyway, now he's sheltered under the umbrella. Kunikida doesn't mention Dazai is so close their knees bump into each other as they walk, either.

He keeps walking and holding the umbrella over their heads, a warm weight clinging to his side as Dazai withdraws from the world, humming that stupid song about double suicides absentmindedly.

Kunikida can't really say he dislikes it.


End file.
